


The Cost of Love

by Frumpologist



Series: Fourteen Thousand Galleons-Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Abuse, F/M, Mental Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Threat of Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 03:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: It happens so slowly that Hermione’s not even sure how it happens at all. A vignette look at the downward spiral of marriage after the war.Prequel to Fourteen Thousand Galleons





	The Cost of Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Ron is not a good guy in this story. If you’re here because you love Ron/Hermione and are looking for a happy ending: turn back now, you don’t want to read this.**
> 
> This story was written with a prompt for the Unhappily Ever After Fest. This one shot is canon to the Fourteen Thousand Galleons universe, and acts as a prequel to the series. Please be cautious of the tags, and if for any reason you are uncomfortable, I implore you to stop reading. This is a hard topic with very specific abuse triggers. Take care of yourselves, friends.
> 
> **Prompt:** They know each other's faces until they don't. Until they're looking at monsters they don't know. Have never known, will never know again.

__

Freckled fingers laced with hers, and she smiled down at the way they were twined together with the dopiest grin on her face. It had finally happened. A single, simple kiss in the bowels of Hogwarts had led to the moment Hermione had dreamt of for so long.

As he led her from the decorated archway, down the white linen makeshift aisle, and past the rows and rows of their friends, she was well chuffed that it was the start of a new life. A life without war and chaos and Horcruxes.

A life as Mrs. Hermione Weasley.

Ron brought their hands to his mouth and placed a sweet kiss to her knuckles. His blue eyes sparkled with love, with adoration, and promised her a night filled with the very best sex she’d ever had.

“Love you, Mrs. Weasley,” he whispered, as their friends followed behind them and shot golden sparks from their wands into the air.

The smile that couldn’t seem to budge grew wider still, and Hermione squeezed his hand. “I love you, Mr. Weasley.”

* * *

“I’m sorry I’m late, love.” 

Ron plopped a kiss to her temple before he crashed down onto the opposite end of the sofa. He kicked off his shoes and tore off his socks and left them sitting on the floor next to his feet.

Hermione closed the book that was open in her lap and placed it neatly on the side table. Her attention was on him, and she smiled as he nestled his frame against the cushy couch.

“Long day?” she asked, though she knew the answer already.

“Bloody customers,” he groused, running fingers through his freshly cut hair. He sighed, and finally met her stare. “A nightmare, they are. Think we can give them discounts even after we’ve marked down the pastilles for Forge and Gred Day.”

She smiled at the name; he’d been so pleased when he had come up with it. “Tomorrow will be better.”

“Sure, sure.” His shoulders slumped and he grabbed onto her foot, pulling it into his lap. His fingers massaged the aches away — a day on heels, rushing around the Ministry floors, had left her with the worst blister on the back of her foot. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

Bollocks. Hermione pulled her lip between her teeth and worried the faded pink flesh. “I was just going to heat up some leftovers. I’m knackered.”

Something like disappointment flickered through his clear blue gaze, but he blinked it away. It still sent a jolt through her heart though, that she’d failed him again.

“S’alright,” he said, and patted her foot so she’d remove it from his lap. “It’s just — mum always had something waiting for dad, and I just thought—”

Pinpricks danced along the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’ll make a nice meal tomorrow, I promise.”

“If you’re sure.” His lips raised in that lopsided smile she loved so much, and relief flooded through her. “I’ll bring home some wine. We’ll make a night of it.”

Her heart blossomed and she nodded her head. “Sounds perfect.”

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


Her hair was the size of a small country around her head. The kitchen was filled with humidity from their cooker. The faucet ran on full, which only added to the moisture in the air. She swiped a bare arm across her forehead as she poked at the sausages in the pan. It didn’t matter what she did; they were nearly burnt to a crisp. The potatoes laid on the other side of the counter, burned. She didn’t know what went wrong; she’d made this meal so many times.

But, she was exhausted. There were so many reports to file at work, and if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t been feeling very well for the past several days. The ruined dinner was just the icing on the otherwise inedible cake.

“Honey, I’m home!” Ron’s jovial tone called through their flat, but instead of the excitement she used to feel, Hermione only felt a slick of something darker slide along her spine and around her gut. “What’s that smell?”

He walked into the kitchen, something in his hands crackling loudly. Hermione turned to find him standing in the archway between the living room and kitchen, staring with wide eyes at the mess she’d created. In his hand was a carrier bag with a crinkled winking smiley face. He’d ordered takeaway — but, she’d told him she was cooking tonight.

“What’d you have?” she asked, in a voice higher than normal.

Ron grinned and lifted the bag. “Curry. Felt in the mood.”

“I told you that I was cooking sausage tonight.” She was quickly losing her patience as she swatted her ridiculous hair away from her face.

“Well.” His grin raised even higher, the dare of a wink flitting across his face. “Probably good that I grabbed a curry then, isn’t it?”

She had two options: take a deep breath and join Ron for curry, or lay into him about his thoughtless and hurtful actions. Hermione stole a breath and turned the dial on the cooker so that the flame died completely.

“Right,” she whispered as she wiped her hands on the back of her trousers. “Let’s just have the curry, then. There’s no saving this dinner at any rate.”

Ron’s smile fell. He reached up and scratched at the back of his neck. “Thing is — er, I only picked up enough for me. On account of the sausage dinner.” He must have noticed her face fall, and quickly added, “but we can split it, I guess. If you want?”

Hermione forced her lips into a smile and shook her head. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want the sausage to go to waste.”

  
“Brilliant.” He set his polystyrene container down on their little dinette and immediately dug in. “Been looking forward to this all day.”

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


Her head was in the toilet, hair slicked back with sweat.

Morning sickness — pft. It was six o’clock in the evening and she’d been throwing up for the better part of an hour. None of her nausea relief potions from the healer helped. Even her Muggle remedies couldn’t make the roiling acid in her stomach neutralize. As she pressed her back against the wall and caught her breath, Hermione wondered if this was going to be her life for the next seven months.

“Oh, love, what’re you doing in here?”

Ron’s face peeked around the door and his eyebrows rose high on his head when he saw her pale, shaky body sat opposite of the toilet. She tried to offer him a weak, small smile, but it didn’t feel like her lips could muster the strength.

“Been sick since I got home from work,” she said, voice a rasp from the endless retching she’d done.

“Little bugger’s causing a lot of mischief already.” Ron sounded proud, and she tried to enjoy the fact that he was so very proud of their growing family. This morning sickness wouldn’t last forever; it was only a spell. “What’s for dinner tonight, love?”

Her heart stopped. Dinner? She had barely made it from the door to the loo in time, let alone try and think about dinner. In fact, the thought of dinner made her stomach jerk and it took all of her willpower not to throw her face over the toilet and vomit again. She lifted her eyes to him, a notch between her brows. Was he serious?

“Oh, no, love, it’s alright.” Ron waved a hand, and smiled. “You haven’t been up to it for the past few days, I just thought — but, no big deal. I’m sure mum has something. I can nip by there and grab a bite.”

She exhaled through her nose, willing the tears that’d sprung to her eyes to stay where they were. “O-okay. Let me clean up, and I’ll pop over with you?”

“No need,” he said, tossing her a towel from the rack which she caught midair. “I’ll grab enough for two.”

Hermione cleaned the loo, and then went on to pick up Ron’s socks from the floor in the living room and the mail off of the table so that they would have somewhere to eat. When he still wasn’t home, she cleaned the dishes in the sink, and then vacuumed, and wiped down the windows.

It was dark when he finally stepped through the fireplace and into their living room. She closed her book and smiled at him.

“How’s your mum and dad?” she asked lightly, eyes on the container he held in his hand. She was famished and could demolish a Weasley roast so easily.

“Good.” He bobbed his head and held up her food. “Mum sent this and a potion she said she swore by when she was pregnant with Gin.”

“You ate there?” She tried to keep the hurt from her voice, but felt the tightness in her chest anyways.

“Yeah, well, they hadn’t seen me in a while and mum made a fuss. I’d be mad to tell her no, wouldn’t I?” He crossed the room, but didn’t stop to kiss her or hand her the food, or even ask how she was feeling or how the house got so clean. Hermione sniffed, and refused to let her emotions show. “You don’t mind if I head to bed, do you, love? It’s just that I’ve got an early and late day tomorrow because we’re doing inventory at the store and George wants to go through everything before the auditor comes in.”

“You’re going to bed?” she asked stupidly, willing herself to understand what he was saying. The pregnancy hormones had been playing with her mind lately; it wasn’t the first time Ron had done something like that and she’d struggled to understand why she couldn’t understand.

“Knackered,” he said behind his hand, and immediately yawned. “Night, love.”

She didn’t even bother to respond; he was already off to the bedroom.

__  
  


* * *

Rose was a week old and a little bundle of joy in her arms as Ron fried bacon in a skillet and Hermione rocked in their new rocker.

It was perfect. Everything Hermione could have wanted on a Saturday morning with her family. She planted a kiss on Rose’s forehead and smiled down at her pink cherub.

“Who’s such a good baby, Rosie?” she cooed, nuzzling their noses together.

Something inside of her snapped.

Low down in her abdomen. Like a rubber band, or bubble wrap. It was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

The baby in her arms nestled closer, and Hermione stood slowly from the rocker with a wince.

“Ron?” she whispered, trying to quell the mounting anxiety in her voice. “Ron? Ron? Ron!”

He finally turned to her, and whether it was the panic in her voice or the way she swayed on the spot, he knew something was wrong. He threw the utensil down and ran to her. His hands quickly stole Rose away and he held her close to his chest.

“What is it love?” he asked, slightly paler than he’d been all morning.

“Something’s wrong.”

She didn’t stay to explain, instead she tore off towards the loo. There was something warm and wet between her thighs, and she felt sick when the scent of copper hit her nose. Hermione stormed into the loo and slammed the door shut, immediately kicking off her pajama bottoms and almost collapsing at the sight that met her.

Dark red blood stained her thighs. Thick and flowing as if turned on by a faucet.

She rocked on the spot and nearly fell to the white tile floor. Somehow, with some kind of strength, she managed to get to the toilet and sat. Her breath was shallow, her forehead on fire, and for a brief moment, Hermione considered that she might be dying.

“Hermione? Love!” Ron rapt on the door and then burst in when she didn’t answer. He caught sight of her and stiffened with Rose in his arms. “What the hell is happening? Why are you bleeding?”

“Call Mungo’s, Ron. Please, please call and tell them I’m on my way.” Her voice was shaky, she couldn’t hide it. It was taking all of her mental faculties to stay upright and conscious. “Go, now, Ron!”

He did. And before she knew it, a medi-witch was in her loo, waving her wand and casting a spell over Hermione. Finally, she felt warm and safe. And the only thing she could think was that, if she left her daughter and Ron behind, after only having a short week with both of them, she’d never forgive the universe.

It was an hour before she saw Ron again. He was next to her cot, holding her hand, and gazing down at her with those startling blue eyes. She smiled at him, weakly, and squeezed his hand. He kissed her forehead, and sighed.

“Rosie is with mum for the day,” he said, and she nodded as best as she could. “I’ll see you after work?”

Hermione blinked. The magical monitor over her heart sped up, the noise beeping over and over and over. “Work?”

Ron grinned. “Have to be at the store today,” he explained, “George is off with Angelina for the day.”

“But--”

“Don’t worry, love. Mungo’s will be here if you need anything, and I’ll be back after I close the store.”

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and stained the pillow under her head. “Can’t you keep the store closed for the day? Or ask Harry to watch it?”

“Harry?” Ron snorted. “He doesn’t know anything about running a shop.”

She was freely crying. She didn’t want to be left alone. They still hadn’t told her what was wrong or if she might need to stay overnight. She didn’t have anything with her, and the last she’d seen of Rose was filled with such worry that she couldn’t remember if she’d been wearing the pink onesie or the green one and that wasn’t how she wanted her potential last time holding her daughter to be.

“But, if you could just—”

“Sorry, Hermione, I have to do this,” he said firmly and dropped her hand. “I’ll be back, yeah? You’ll just get some rest — I’m already jealous.”

She watched him walk away without another word.

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


It was finally time to go back to work. Maternity leave was great and all, but she was ready to put her talents to good use. She could be a working mother — she and Ron had talked about it, and it was feasible. Minister of Magic, here she comes.

“I can’t find my heels,” she shouted from the bedroom to the living room. “Ron, where are my heels?”

“Here.” They dangled from his hand as he brought them into the room and held them out to her. “Are you sure you want to do this? Rose is fussy and I know mum is getting on a bit.”

“Your mum will love having her grandchild around.” Hermione laughed and slipped her heels on carefully. She did a slow twirl with her arms out at her sides. “Well. How do I look?”

His hands found her hips and he pulled her in close for a kiss. “Have a good day, love. I’ll see you for dinner?”

She nodded, a smile on her face as she tried to squash the feeling of inadequacy down. Perhaps he was just bent about her going back to work. He wasn’t the most excited by it, but she thought they’d agreed.

“Sure; I’ll make pasta,” she said finally.

“If you see Harry, tell him he owes us a dinner?”

A genuine smile split her face. “Okay.”

When she got home later that night, the house was dark save for a bluebell flame on the kitchen table. Underneath it was a note with Ron’s familiar scribbles.

Out to the pub with the lads. Rose is with mum for the night. Don’t wait up.

So, she didn’t.

__  
  


* * *

“Off to the pub again?” Hermione sat at their kitchen table and let her book fall closed. “Maybe we can get your mum to watch Rose and I can come with you. I feel like I haven’t seen anyone in ages.”

Ron was quiet for a long time, and the spoke slowly. “Do you really think that’s proper? Shoving our daughter off on my mum so you can go out to the pub?”

Silence. Anger. She stood up sharply from the table and placed her hands on her hips. “How dare you, Ronald Weasley! I have just as much of a right to a night out with friends as you, just because I’m the mum doesn’t mean I’m second consideration!”

Ron’s hands went up in defense, and he sauntered over to her with a sway in his hips and that goofy smile she liked so much. “Hey, hey,” he cooed softly, “I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t twist my words, love.”

His hands were on her hips and he pulled her forward into his big, safe body. Her anger melted away, calmed by the way he stroked her sides and then playfully swatted her arse.

“It’s just—” she mumbled against his sternum, “I haven’t been out in so long. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be anything except for Rosie’s mum or the Ministry’s paper pusher.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” It was a term he rarely used, though it was growing more frequent over the past few months. “They all miss you, too. Maybe next time; we can give mum more notice?”

She sighed. “That’s reasonable. Just — say hi to everyone for me?”

“Of course.”

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“I brought home takeaway!”

Ron’s voice hollered through the house, and Hermione threw her tea towel down onto the counter. That was the third time in a week she’d cooked dinner and Ron had stopped for takeaway.

“Honestly.” she hissed as he walked into the kitchen and planted himself at the table and ate food she didn’t make. “Why do I even bother?”

“Sorry?” He raised an eyebrow and she raised one in return. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

The scoff left her throat before she could stop it. Hermione stared at him, and he stared back. Challenging blue eyes glued to her reddening face.

“Did you just—”

“All you’ve done is nag me for the past week.” Ron pushed his food away and stood abruptly from the table. “It’s maddening. Don’t go to the pub, don’t get takeaway, don’t stay late at work, stop watching the Quidditch. It’s like you only want me to be here with you.”

It was a punch to the gut. She issued a steady stream of thick breath from between her lips and then quickly inhaled through her nose. She blinked and swallowed around a knot.

“With me and your daughter,” she said through clenched molars.

“Oh, right, there we go again!” Ron threw his hands up and walked toward her. He didn’t stop until he towered over her, staring down with angry eyes. “Go on, Hermione. Tell me all about how much of a piss-poor father I am because I’m working or keeping our friends sweet enough to watch Rose when we have dinner or how I’m not allowed to enjoy things like Quidditch or a pint. Merlin, do you even listen to yourself?”

Another breath left her from deep in her lungs. “That’s ridiculous, Ron!”

“And there it is.” He bared his teeth. She could feel the contained anger radiating from him. “Now I’m ridiculous.”

“That’s not what I said!” Hermione pleaded with him, feeling the moisture hitting the corners of her eyes. “Ron, that’s not what I said. That’s not fair! I cooked dinner and I just wanted to eat with you for once and—”

“You know what?” His hands raised, and she flinched. “Did you just… did you just flinch?”

She immediately felt horrible. It was a reaction; he’d been mad. She didn’t mean to flinch; it just happened. “No, Ron, I’m sorry. It just — you’re so angry, and—”

Hermione cried, open and in earnest. Tears streamed down her face as he stared at her. Ron seemed to take pity on her, and he pulled her into his chest for a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against her wild curls, hands caressing her back. “I know, I know you didn’t mean it, love. It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Her last thought before she let him lead her to the bedroom, was: thank God.

* * *

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered as he stumbled into the house after midnight.

“Makes sense,” was his reply.

* * *

Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong at work. Papers missing, bills overturned, and her boss ripped into her in front of everyone in a meeting. She was exhausted, heavily pregnant, and all she wanted to do was go to bed.

But, when she got home with Rose in tow, the flat was empty. Again.

Rose threw a tantrum. She refused to sleep. Hermione had a stack of things to get done for work. She heated up beans from a tin and spread them on toast. She ate between shushing Rose and reading a foot long parchment on werewolf rights.

Just as Rose had finally fallen asleep, the floo roared to life. Ron was home.

“Why isn’t she in bed yet?” Was the first thing he said.

Hermione blinked slowly and breathed deep. “She’s been a nightmare tonight.”

“Well, put her to bed. I have an early day tomorrow.” He threw his takeaway onto the table and eyed the plate that had held her beans and toast with disdain. “And maybe clean up the kitchen? I’d rather get to bed so that I can be up to open the shop.”

“I have work to do still,” she tried to reason, holding up a piece of parchment for him to see.

He waved her off. “This is exactly what I meant about being a working mum, you know? It’s hardly my fault you can’t manage your time.”

“That’s not—”

“Shhh!” He glanced to their sleeping daughter and back again. “Don’t wake her, please.”

She couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped. Having had enough, Hermione gently placed her plate in the sink and left Ron to finish his takeaway in peace. She’d go through the papers in the morning before they both woke up. She could make it work; she could manage her time just fine.

When Ron came to bed, he yawned loudly and cuddled up behind her. He pressed a kiss just behind her ear and whispered goodnight with his hands trailing down her side.

“Unless you want to, you know?” he asked suggestively.

“I’m so tired,” Hermione lied, and faked a yawn.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he whispered. His hand slid to the front of her pajama bottoms and past the elastic band. “Just a little play, Hermione, please?”

And because she couldn’t bear to tell him no, because he was warm and kind and finally paying her a smattering of attention, she parted her legs and turned her face to kiss him.

__  
  


* * *

Toddlers ran everywhere. Molly had dinner setting as she waited for the clan of Weasleys to squeeze around her massive dining table. Hermione sat next to Ron, her forearm pressed to his, and Harry on her other side trying to calm his very pregnant wife.

She’d never felt quite at place there, as there were so many of them. But, Molly never failed to try and make her feel welcome; she’d coo over Hermione’s protruding stomach and slip her an extra biscuit after every dinner. If there were ever a mother in law Hermione could choose for herself, she’d always choose Molly without a second thought. Still. As Victoire ran around the table and Bill and Fleur snuggled in close to one another while Arthur and Percy talked Ministry things she wasn’t privy to, and Ron and George talked shop; Hermione couldn’t help but feel woefully alone.

“Molly, do you need any help in the kitchen?” Hermione asked, feeling a desperate need to get away from the table.

“No, darling. You tuck in and enjoy the family. I’ll only be a tick!” And Molly flew out of the dining area and into the kitchen.

Within minutes, dinner floated out to them, and the sound of Weasley gnashing filled the room. Hermione picked at her food, moving it around the plate more than actually eating any of the meal.

The third time that Ron’s elbow knocked into hers, Hermione excused herself from the table feigning nausea. She stepped from the house and out onto the small wooden porch out the back and basked in the crisp evening country air.

Sometimes, being a Weasley was hard. Their family was so big, and it was easy to get lost in them. Not anything like her own, little family — not that she had one of those anymore. Sadness washed over her that hadn’t even really been there a moment before. Her fingers clenched into small fists and she stole a deep breath as she tried to push her parents from her mind; there was nothing for it, they were gone. And Ron didn’t like to discuss it, he said it brought up his memories of Fred.

Let sleeping hippogriffs lie, he’d said. So, she did.

__  
  


* * *

“Ron!” Hermione’s excited voice shouted through the house as she climbed out of the floo. “Ron are you home?”

He appeared from around the corner with Rose attached to his hip. “Hey, welcome home, love. We missed you.”

Rose was in her arms in a second, and Hermione grinned as she nuzzled her nose against her baby’s face. It wouldn’t be long before her only child was a big sister, and while Hermione was nervous for the dynamic to change, she was also very excited to be done with pregnancy.

“I missed you both so much,” she said against Rose’s cheek. “But mummy has some good news for everyone today! Do you want to know what it is, Rosie?”

Rose giggled as Hermione tickled her sides. “Mummy! Mummy! Play boop boop!”

Hermione did as her daughter wished and bopped her on the nose and cheeks while making the “boop” noise. Rose fell into a fit of laughter, and it warmed Hermione’s heart to hear the noise. It was her very favorite sound in the world. Could take the worst day and make it the best in the blink of an eye.

Ron smiled at the pair of them, and moved some of Rose’s thick, red hair from her face. “So, what’s the news, sweetheart?”

Hermione beamed as she pulled her face away from their toddler. “I was offered a promotion. Senior Analyst, actually!”

Whatever reaction she’d expected from Ron, it hadn’t been a frown. Her heart plummeted to her stomach and she set Rose down onto the floor as she struggled to fly out of Hermione’s arms. When Hermione straightened back up, she found Ron with skepticism in his eyes.

“You’re almost due,” he said lightly, dragging his gaze from hers to her belly and back again. “Do you really think that taking on more responsibility is a good idea right now?”

She bit down on her lip and forced a tight smile. “Well, I only thought — you know, after he’s born—”

“That’s two young kids for mum to look after,” Ron sighed, his head shaking. “And George is planning a long holiday with Angelina for their anniversary. I can’t be away from the shop just so you can work even more.”

“But, I just thought—”

Rose began to cry, and Ron didn’t make a move to pick her up. Hermione waited, just a moment, but when his eyes darted to their daughter with a pointed and unspoken ‘are you going to take care of her?’, she gave in.

She was always giving in.

“I’ll just…” She scooped Rose up and tried to shove her feelings down. “I’ll tell them now’s not the best time.”

__  
  


* * *

“You must be ready to pop any day now,” Ginny said after taking a small sip of water. “Maybe we’ll have them on the same day?”

It was something they’d talked about plenty of times. She’d always wanted her children to grow up alongside the Potters, and it seemed like fate that she and Ginny had managed to get pregnant twice almost at the same times.

“Merlin, I hope it’s soon,” Hermione laughed, and carried on eating as the conversation between the two married couples switched to quidditch and the latest news about the reconstruction of Hogwarts.

“McGonagall messaged me about a position opening up,” Harry said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. “Hermione, dinner was lovely, thank you.”

Hermione caught his eye and lifted her lips. “It helps to have so much free time on maternity leave.”

“McGonagall wants you to work at Hogwarts?” Ginny asked Harry, an eyebrow raised. “But if you do that, how will I go back to training once Albus is born?”

Ron spluttered his beer all down the front of his shirt, and laughed. “Albus? As in Dumbledore? Please tell me you’re not naming your son Albus.”

Harry sighed; he seemed to be outnumbered by Weasley expectant looks. “Yes, we’ve decided; Albus Severus Potter, after Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape.”

“And you?” Ron turned to his sister with an incredulous look. “What’d you think of these names?”

Ginny’s lips pinched. “They’re perfectly fine names. They have a lot of meaning to us.”

Ron snorted. “Right. Not like Richard.”

Harry turned to Hermione, eyebrows high. “Naming the baby after your dad?”

Hermione sucked her lips into her mouth and bit down. She nodded and refused to look at Ron, who she was sure was sporting the worst sort of scowl.

“D’you know what kids shorten the name Richard to?” Ron belted out a single ‘hah!’. “Dick. Fancy our son running around being called Dick.”

She breathed deep into her belly and filled her mouth with a bit of pork. Best not say anything at all. Clearly he’d had too much beer over dinner. But, Harry’s eyes were still on her, watching carefully at the way she’d dipped her gaze down to the plate and refused to meet her husband’s eyes.

“I’ve tossed Fred into the hat,” Ron said after a beat of silence. “I think he’d like that, to be named after his uncle Fred.”

Ginny patted her arm consolingly and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Does your father have a middle name, maybe?”

__  
  


* * *

It was a hard labor. Something tore, but they promised Hermione that the hemorrhaging she’d experienced after Rosie wouldn’t happen to her after Hugo. They took care of it, and though she was tired, she was relieved she’d never have to go through that again.

They placed the bundle into Hermione’s arms and she gazed down at the squishy little face of her son.

“Hugo,” she whispered, a smile wrestling with the exhaustion on her face. “My little lamb.”

“Hugo Arthur Weasley,” Ron said as his hand came down gently to the top of Hugo’s head. He placed a gentle kiss against Hermione’s temple. “He’s perfect.”

“Yeah.” Hermione held him closer and lost herself to the peace of knowing he was here and he was safe. “Yeah, he is.”

* * *

__  
  


“Ron’s at work,” Hermione told Harry as he stepped out of her fireplace and stomped the soot off the bottom of his shoes. “He won’t be home for a bit.”

Hugo laid on her chest as she continued to clean the house despite her company. He’d been a good baby; quiet, not fussy. Nothing like his sister had been when she was a few months old. And thank goodness for that, because Hermione heard from Ginny how much crankier Albus was than James had been.

“I actually wasn’t here to see Ron,” he confided quietly, stepping over to her and lifting Hugo out of her arms. He bounced the baby and cooed in his ear; all the right things to keep her little bundle of joy asleep. “I came to see you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh.” It caught her entirely by surprise. She hadn’t seen Harry without either Ron or Ginny present since -- well, since the end of the war, at least. “Sure, right, that’s fine. Of course. What is it you need?”

Harry snorted and pushed his glasses up high on his nose. “I don’t need anything. Do I have to have a reason to visit my best friend?”

Hermione watched the way he held Hugo, the small circles he walked in, but his eyes always drifted back to hers. He looked so tired — and thus, the life of parents with babies. “No, I suppose not. I’m sorry, Harry. How are you?”

He ducked his chin, a crooked smile on his face as he perched himself on her sofa. “‘M Fine. It’s a little quiet around the house with Ginny back to training. I don’t get out much, not really, and I figured we could use the free time to catch up.”

“How long did the Ministry give you for paternity leave?” Hermione had been surprised at how quickly Ginny returned to quidditch, but chose not to say anything for fear of upsetting Harry.

“Six months.” His eyes were wide and he laughed. “Since I’m primary caretaker and the boys’ mum travels. Listen, Hannah and Neville are having a sort of reunion of the DA. I was thinking we could go — for old time’s sake.”

“So you did want something,” Hermione snorted as she stepped to the window and began cleaning the glass. “I don’t know, Harry. Ron doesn’t like to leave both kids with his mum, and I don’t know if he’d be okay with watching them on his own.”

“He’s their father.” Harry’s eyes shot high onto his forehead. “Of course he’d be okay. And besides, he’s invited. Molly’s watching James and Albus. I’m sure she’d watch Rose and Hugo as well. Will you come sit down, please?”

Hermione hadn’t stopped cleaning. She’d been cleaning ever since she’d finished cooking Ron’s breakfast in the morning. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what sitting and relaxing even was anymore. And she was aching to get back to work. She continued to clean the window sill, and then fluffed the curtains, and arranged the fake flowers on the table near the front door.

“Hermione.” Harry whispered her name firmly, the same tone Hermione would use when she was upset and trying not to wake the baby on her chest. She glanced back to Harry and bit her lip. “Just — ask, alright? It won’t be the same without you.”

She nodded, but returned her attention to the polished wood of the table. “Okay. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

Dread filled the pit of her stomach at even the thought of asking Ron about it.

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“Harry stopped by for a visit.” Hermione scooped potatoes from a pan and put them onto Ron’s plate. “Said that Hannah and Neville are getting the members of the DA together for a reunion of sorts.”

“Harry came by?” Ron’s movement stilled and he stared at her with hard eyes. “Just to tell you that? Funny, he could have stopped by the shop and told me.”

“He used your parents’ floo is all,” Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders and tucking herself into the seat opposite her husband. “He wanted to invite us along.”

She knew the long sigh he let out well. She’d heard it more often than not over the past few months and it caused her stomach to knot every single time. It was always followed by some innocuous observation that she’d dwell and worry over until something else took its place.

“It would be fun,” she said hastily, pushing her food around her plate for something to do. “And we haven’t seen anyone in so long.”

“I saw Seamus just last week,” Ron told her, a smug sort of smile on his face. “And Luna, she visited the shop. Actually, I think she mentioned something about the reunion; she was looking for some of George’s patented party potions.”

“See, it’ll be a good time.” Hermione smiled and finally popped a bite of dinner between her lips. She swallowed before continuing. “Maybe your mum will watch the kids; she’s already agreed to watch James and Albus.”

“Harry told you that?” Ron arched a brow and slumped back against his seat. “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of mum and dad alone with all four of them.”

“Maybe…” she lowered her eyes to her food, and sort of mumbled. “Maybe, if it’s an issue, you could watch the kids and I can go?”

Silence. Pure, dreadful silence.

She rushed through her next words in a manic voice. “It’s just been so long since I’ve been out, is all. I haven’t really left the house except for groceries and to the Burrow since Hugo was born, and I think it would be really good for me to… go.”

Ron set his fork down with a clatter. His eyes were sharp and hard on hers. “I work long hours,” he said slowly, his hand coming up to caress his jaw and the stubble there, “I barely get to see you at all. And what you’re telling me is that you would take that time away, without me, leaving me here with the Rose and Hugo, while you go out and see our mutual friends?”

His words hit her over and over again. She felt small, stupid; of course he was right, of course he was. When he put it like that, it sounded absolutely terrible that she’d even considered leaving him at home with the kids. Merlin, she was so thoughtless.

“You’re right,” she whispered, a plea for him to understand. “I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes dropped again to the food on her plate, but Hermione found she wasn’t very hungry after all.

* * *

__  
  


The sun set so long ago, and the dinner she cooked after a very long day at work was cold on the table. It must be another busy night for Ron, because he hadn’t sent an owl or floo’d to let her know he’d be late. Hermione had gotten home, cooked, bathed the kids, and tucked them into bed, and he still wasn’t home.

She tidied the kitchen and straightened the bookshelf, she picked his dirty socks up from the floor and tossed in a load of laundry. All the good old fashioned Muggle way, because it was cathartic and familiar and her wand was tucked away in her work satchel; no need for it at home, really.

It was gone midnight when she finally flopped down in bed. No sign of her husband, no contact whatsoever. He must have gotten stuck with the ledger, or else had a customer that kept him later than expected. It was normal these days; it seemed that he got stuck with the later nights the more successful George’s shop was.

And it was fine. They were saving up for a house, after all.

The flat was so quiet that she clearly heard the whoosh of the floo when he finally got home. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and snuggled herself further into the mattress. On nights when he was late, he was always more tetchy; she didn’t want to have to be careful with her words, and so she pretended to be asleep as he crossed the archway into their bedroom.

“Hermione?” he called out to her under his breath. She heard his shirt hit the floor, followed by the clink of his belt, and the heavy thud of his jeans. “Love, you awake?”

She didn’t answer and stayed very, very still.

His hand came over her hip, squeezing the skin there gently. Ron’s nose nuzzled against the back of her neck, through her curls, and his warm breath stirred the little hairs so that she shivered under his touch.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His breath was in her ear, and his fingers ran the length of the band around her bottoms. “You awake?”

Hermione held her breath. She willed him to give up and go to sleep.

His fingertips brushed her hair away from her shoulder and his lips attached to the sensitive skin there. She couldn’t help herself; a noise of appreciation left her. He smirked against her and encouraged her to roll onto her back.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he lied, and then his lips crashed onto hers.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her thighs so that he could crawl between them. He was warm, he was safe, and he was home; what had she been thinking that she’d tried to avoid this perfectly lovely time with him? He worshipped her body, made her come twice before he’d even started the journey to his own orgasm, and when they lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, he kissed her tenderly.

“Saw Hannah today,” he said, as if it only just occurred to him.

The way he said her name caused something uninvited to roil around her stomach. She’d never felt that way before, and especially not over her friends, but suddenly Hermione felt sick.

“That’s nice.” 

She made to move away from him so that she could go to sleep and pretend that they’d had a lovely evening together in bed, but he held her to him. Her back to his chest. He moved her hair from her neck again and kissed a trail to her ear.

“Did you know she’s single?” Ron asked. “Maybe we could, you know… see if she’s interested in that thing we talked about years ago.”

Her body stiffened. Like a knife slid into her gut. His words hurt, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling him so. He hated to hear her feelings; had made that perfectly well known after their row about the DA reunion. And now, well, now she’d wallow like she’d had to do ever since.

“What’d you think?” He kept pushing and pushing, his lips on her and his hands roaming and all she could feel was the acidic roil in her stomach. “You know, there are couples who enjoy… more than one partner.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to do that anymore,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed and waiting for the fallout. “That was years ago, before — well, the kids and—”

His hands left her immediately. Ron rolled onto his other side and rugged at the covers.

“Whatever,” he murmured, leaving her cold and feeling like shite for saying no. “I’ll just pop it into the wank bank for later.”

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“Takeaway again.” Hermione dropped a plastic bag on the table between them and threw herself into her seat. Ron watched her quietly under the dim light of the kitchen. She knew he wouldn’t be happy because she worked late, and she was sad that the kids were clearly already in bed. “Sorry, Ron. I promise I’ll cook tomorrow. It’s such a long week.”

Ron grumbled and began to tear away the plastic and dish out the dinner she’d picked up. “I think we should revisit you working again.”

“There’s nothing to revisit, Ron,” Hermione said shortly, yanking the polystyrene container from his hands and scooping curry onto her plate. “I’m going to keep working, end of.”

His food clattered to the table and he stood, towering over her in a second. “Maybe you can stop being so fucking selfish and look around at everything that’s failing.” Ron’s hand came down hard onto the table in front of her, and Hermione jumped in her seat. Stricken. “There’s no dinner, the house is a fucking disaster, you spend more time gossiping with your work mates than actually getting anything in your department passed through to the Minister, and our kids are with my parents more than they’re home.”

Hermione scooted her chair back so that he was no longer staring down at her and she crossed her legs. She counted to five, she dug her nails into her skin, and she blinked slowly before she opened her mouth to speak.

“There are two people to run this household, Ronald.” Her voice was a monotonous hiss. “It’s your flat, they are your children, and you eat dinner here, too. How dare you insinuate that because I’m a working parent, all of the failures that you see are mine and mine alone.”

The scariest thing she’d ever seen in her life was the way Ron smiled at her. What used to make her feel safe and secure now felt terrifying and cold. When he spoke again, it wasn’t in the controlled timber he’d used, but an angry shout that echoed around the house.

“I am working like a fucking house elf to pay for this flat!” His face bloomed in red splotches and he took two steps so that he was standing within her reach again. “I provide everything for you, for the kids, and this is how you thank me? Dinner out of a carton and a bitch fit about how your life is so fucking hard? You’re a fucking disgrace of a wife.”

Her shoulders were tense as is eyes darkened and lips twisted into the worst scowl. Tears sprung to her eyes and immediately fell down her cheeks in a steady stream. He didn’t care; he laid into her over and over; the words washed over her and took root in her mind, and her soul cracked open and she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Stop bloody crying for sympathy,” he ordered her. When she didn’t, his hand swiped out and tossed everything from the table and onto the floor. “Merlin’s sake, Hermione, you’re a grown adult. No one’s going to come in and fix your problems just because you’re crying about them.” Ron took a deep breath, and when his hand reached towards her chin, she tried like hell not to flinch away from him. Her whole body shook. “There’s an easy fix — and you’re going to do it for the sake of our marriage and the kids.”

“What’s the solution,” she asked, her raspy words barely leaving her.

“Go part time at the Ministry.”

“Okay.” Anything to make this stop. Anything at all.

“Good.” He smiled, his entire presence shifting to something kinder, gentler. His fingers ran the length of her jaw and he lowered his face down to hers to plant a kiss on her lips; she didn’t return it and held her breath. “Clean up the mess, and let’s go to bed. You look delicious in that skirt.”

* * *

__  
  


“Harry says hello.” Ron said as he nuzzled his nose against the side of her neck. His hands were on her hips and he yanked her so close she could feel the stiff erection on her thigh. “Hannah asked after you; told her you were fine.”

“Hannah was there?” Hermione tried to push him away, but he stumbled back toward her and smiled as he kissed her sloppily.

“Everyone was there. It was like a reunion.” His hands reached down and palmed her arse and he moaned into her ear. “Let’s try something new tonight, sweetheart. Would you like that?”

She was torn. His hands felt bloody good on her body, but his words — well, they were shattering her piece by piece. Hannah, again. “I don’t think I feel up to it Ron, and you’re clearly drunk.”

“M’not,” he argued, stuffing his hand into the waistline of her bottoms and knickers. “Come on, love, spread your legs for me and let’s try that thing we read about last week.”

“Ron—” Hermione sighed into his kiss, and lost herself in the feel of being wanted, needed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and nodded. “Alright, we can try it.”

“Brilliant.” His hands wrapped into her hair and he yanked at the roots while his lips and teeth dragged along her exposed neck. “Hannah said it was brilliant.”

“Hannah?” Hermione’s blood went cold.

“Yeah, the table got to talking about sex things and, well, she mentioned it.” Ron made quick work of dropping their clothes to the floor as he led her toward the bedroom. “You’re sure you want to try this?”

Well, what the hell choice did she have now? The only thing repeated over and over in her head was ‘Hannah would do it’, and so, despite that she wanted to curl into a ball and cry herself to sleep, Hermione nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Thank Morgana,” he growled, before his mouth crashed into hers and he tossed her on the bed. “Beg me, love. Beg me for it.”

__  
  


* * *

Her entire world was spinning.

The words rang in her ears and everything wobbled before her.

“Hermione?” Harry waved his hand in front of her unseeing eyes. “Er, I know it’s a shock, but I’m going to need my best friend to talk to me, yeah?”

She jolted at his words, and launched herself towards him. Her arms wrapped around him, tight, and she wasn’t sure if she was clinging to him more for her sake or for his.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she muttered against his neck. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He patted her back. “It’s alright, Hermione. I’m alright. Come on, it’s okay.”

Okay? This was horrendous. Sad, and if it happened to Harry, couldn’t it happen to her, too?

“It’s your marriage, Harry!” Hermione chastised in a frantic, high pitched tone. “You and Ginny, you were it, you know?”

“That’s an impossibly high standard,” he tried to joke, but she didn’t find it very funny and frowned. “We talked about it. We’re both sure it’s the best solution. It’s just not working anymore.”

“And you… and Ginny… are okay?” She didn’t believe it. Not for a second.

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically and smiled that lopsided Harry smile. “It’s been months since we decided, alright. It’s been okay. I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

His bright green eyes shined in a way she hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Okay.”

“So,” she drew out the sound and chomped down on her lip. “Who will have custody of the boys?”

“I will.” He grinned in a way she’d never, ever seen. “Ginny has training and she thinks the Harpies are headed to the Europe Cup, so we’ve made an arrangement for allotted time and all that.”

“Sounds like you two have really sorted it out.” She was pleased for him, really. Divorce rarely was an amicable event. Heaven knew that it wouldn’t be if her and Ron ever split up. “I don’t know what to say, I guess. I’m happy for you?”

Harry laughed and mussed up his hair. “Yeah, I’m happy for me, too.”

  
They sat in companionable silence for a short while as the kids played on the floor with their toys. Every once in a while, she’d glance at Harry and find him staring at her, but she’d offer him a smile and a faint blush and he’d return it in his Harry way that made her feel warm and safe. She’d really missed the finer points of their friendship lately, and she was so happy that he’d decided to stop by. Regardless that it was to forewarn her of the news before the Weasley Sunday dinner.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said, rather out of the blue in the wake of their silence. 

“Yeah?” She watched as Rosie and James built structures out of lego bricks.

“What do you know of Draco Malfoy?”

Her head snapped to him, and he pulled his glasses off to wipe them clean on the hem of his jumper.

“I—” So random, so bizarre. She spluttered around her words before finally settling. “I don’t really know much about him anymore, to be honest. Isn’t his wife sick?”

“They’re separated now, actually,” Harry corrected her quickly. “No worries. I was just curious.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed, but she couldn’t dwell for long. Hugo had smashed Albus in the face with a toy dragon, and was giggling away as he screamed.

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


Tense.

That was the only way to describe dinner at the Weasleys after Harry and Ginny announced their divorce. Smart as they were, they’d finalized their paperwork and dissolved their marriage before telling their family, so no one could possibly try and talk them into changing their minds.

Hermione kept her eyes down and mouth closed as Molly burst into tears and demanded to know details that Hermione considered extraordinarily private. Harry and Ginny, to their credit, handled the questions and criticisms quite well. Well, until Ron.

His arm wound around the back of Hermione’s chair, and he grinned. “Hermione and I are taking a holiday to rekindle some of the magic. Maybe you should do the same.”

Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She forced herself to smile. Even though it was the first she was hearing of this holiday, Hermione pretended that she knew, and she nodded as the family voiced their excitement for them. Everyone knew they hadn’t had time away; of course they were pleased for them.

And yet, she wondered vaguely: why? Why hadn’t Ron mentioned it before? Why did he have the proudest look on his face as he crushed her into his side? So many things were feeling so very wrong lately, and this should have been a happy surprise. Instead, her stomach fluttered with worry.

Ron’s lips pressed to the side of her head and his fingers squeezed around her shoulder. Still, she kept her smile. Even when Percy asked her why she hadn’t put in for her time off, she kept her smile. Even when Ginny asked if she was going to catch the Harpies game while they were in Tunisia, she kept her smile. Even when Harry mouthed ‘are you alright?’ at her side, she kept her smile.

Because, Merlin help her, she didn’t want to deal with the fallout should her face fall in front of Ron’s family. The last time that had happened, Ron hadn’t spoken to her in three days.

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“Love? I brought wine!”

Hermione removed the apron from around her waist and tossed it onto the counter. By the time she spun around, Ron was in the kitchen holding up a large bottle of dark red wine with a smile on his face.

“What’s the occasion?” She stepped forward and took the wine from his hand as he planted a chaste kiss to her cheek.

As she moved about the kitchen to get dinner set and the wine poured, Ron leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles. “We got approval for the shop in Hogsmeade. George is going to take that store to get it running, which means I’ll have a branch of WWW all to myself now.”

“Oh, brilliant, Ron! I’m so happy for you and George!” Hermione stepped to him and placed her hand to his chest, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly on the lips. “Let’s have dinner and tell me all about it.”

A store all to himself meant that he’d work more, but Hermione was pleased for him. Sure, he was already tired all the time, and of course she hardly felt like she saw him some days, but he loved the shop so much, and there was no way she was going to ruin this moment for him by airing her concerns for his time.

She tucked into the table and stole a greedy sip of wine. Merlin, it’d been so long since she’d had any wine, and she savored the taste as it washed over her tongue. A satisfied moan pulled from her before she could stop it, and then she immediately finished her glass.

Ron chuckled. “I forgot how much you love wine. Don’t drink too much, though,” he said as his eyes followed the path of her reach to the bottle. “You know how you get, and I’d much rather spend the night celebrating in bed than sleeping in it.”

Her hand hesitated around the bottle, and she glanced at him with question in her eyes. How much was too much? Hermione crossed her legs under the table and chewed on the corner of her lip. She’d done that so often, the skin was beginning to chap.

“Oh, go on,” he encouraged her, a slight wink sent in her direction before he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Lower your inhibitions a little bit more.”

A chill ran down her spine. So that’s why he’d brought the wine home. It wasn’t that he knew she loved it, that it’d been so long since she’d had any at all. She lowered her hand from the bottle and reached for her fork instead.

“Don’t you want to celebrate, love?” Ron tilted his chin toward the wine, his face never losing that lopsided smile. “Go on then, enjoy your wine.”

“Actually, I thought I might take it slow?” She cleared her throat and stood from the table to get a glass of water. Make a point to show him she wasn’t going to be drinking any more tonight, and that if he wanted to celebrate, she’d be perfectly sober when they did so.

His arms wound around her from behind, and he ground his hips into her. “Why don’t we move this into the bedroom now, then?” he whispered into her ear.

“Dinner?” Hermione tried weakly, clenching the glass in her hand to try and keep the way it shook hidden from him.

“Already ate before I came home,” he murmured, hands caressing her sides. “Had to tell the lads, didn’t I?”

Her heart broke. Again, and again, and again, Ron Weasley was breaking her heart.

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“And so the boy said to the toad: ‘you don’t really think I’m scared of you? You’re just a toad!’” Hermione stroked Hugo’s ginger hair and smiled as he made noises of awe while she read his very favorite bedtime story. Rose curled up on her other side, her head resting against Hermione’s shoulder.

“What did the toad say, mummy?” Hugo asked, entirely engrossed in the tale as he’d always been countless times before.

“Toads can’t talk,” Rose whispered, laughing when Hugo scoffed and blew raspberries in her direction.

Hermione chuckled softly at her two strong-willed children, and she pressed a kiss onto their heads. “The toad looked at the young boy, and said—”

“You should be afraid of me — I eat frog legs for breakfast.” Ron’s voice broke through their storytime as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and smiled in their direction.

“Shhhhh, dad!” Hugo whined. “That’s not what the toad said! Geez!”

Hermione clamped her teeth over her lips and shoved her face into her shoulder to try and hide her amusement. Ron’s eyes darkened from the doorway, and she knew she had to diffuse the situation, not make it worse.

“Okay, my loves, it’s time for bed. Rosie, head down to your room now, my sweet.” Hermione pushed herself from the bed despite Hugo’s protests, and she reached down to place a firm kiss on his forehead. “We’ll revisit the toad and the young boy tomorrow, little lamb. Get some rest.”

“Ughhhhhh.” Hugo’s dramatic sigh was the last thing she heard as she brushed past Ron and listened to him tell his children goodnight.

She knew she was in for it when he stormed into their room and practically slammed the door closed behind him. His wand was out and he cast a silencing charm at the door. Hermione perched herself on the bed and crossed her legs at the ankle. He stayed quiet for several moments, and then, as she expected, laid into her.

“What was that all about?” He crossed his arms and stood directly in front of her.

She took a deep breath and tried not to focus on how much taller he was, how his shoulders were so much broader than hers, how his wand was held against his upper arm and his finger was tracing a line down the wood as if absently caressing it.

“What was what all about?” she asked, mimicking his movements and crossing her arms as well. “I was reading bedtime stories to our children.”

“Have you told Hugo to be such a little git to me?” Ron’s eyes narrowed down at her, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He’s been speaking to me like that more and more; like he doesn’t like to hear what I have to say.”

“He’s nearly four, Ronald. He only likes what he has to say and wants everything his own way.” Hermione experimented with a laugh, but Ron didn’t join in. “He didn’t mean anything by it, and I certainly haven’t been telling him to act that way.”

“Well, you haven’t bloody stopped it either, have you?” His arms shot out to his sides and his wand sparked.

Hermione flinched at the magic.

Ron didn’t seem to notice.

He shouted at her for an hour before he told her to sleep on the sofa for the night.

* * *

__  
  


“Hermione, are you alright?”

Hermione made a noise in her throat that sounded like ‘huh?’ as the haze in her eyes melted away. He stared at her, bright green eyes boring into hers, and she forced a smile.

“I’m fine,” she lied, and shoved a forkful of food into her mouth to avoid saying anything else on the matter.

“Ron couldn’t make it for dinner with me?” His elbows rested on the table and he held his chin in his hands. Hermione didn’t like the way he was appraising her; the way his eyes dropped to any bare part of her body, looking for something but saying nothing.

“He doesn’t come home for dinner much anymore,” Hermione said flippantly, stabbing a bean with her fork. “He’s working very hard, Harry. I can’t expect him to put his career aside when I’m perfectly capable of handling dinner and heating it up for him when he gets home.”

Harry’s eyebrows were high over his glasses. “Right, I’m sorry. I only meant that you don’t look like yourself right now.”

And he was right. Her hair was in complete disarray around her head, half up and half down in some failed attempt to pull it out of her face. Her clothes were so old they were faded, the seams of her jeans fuzzy and her shirt just a touch too snug. But, it didn’t matter, she thought. Ron was saving for a house, and she had to put her desires aside. Just for now, she told herself. Just for now.

“I’m sorry that I’m not what you expect,” she said, her voice tight in her throat. She ignored the pretense of eating her dinner and now openly stared at Harry. “Maybe if everyone stopped making presumptions of who I’m supposed to be, everyone wouldn’t be so bloody disappointed all the time.”

She pushed away from the table and stormed into her living room. When Harry chased after her and grabbed onto her elbow, she flinched. He wasn’t so much taller than her, but the way his gaze caught hers sent a flood of panic through her body.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tugging her arm from him. “That was — harsh. I only meant — everyone has something to say about my job or that I’m not — not doing whatever it is they think I should be. And I’m tired of defending my choices, Harry.”

“Choices?” Harry’s voice caught in his throat, the uncontained scoff flirting with her anger. “I don’t think you’ve had a choice here at all, love.”

“Well, what do you know?” Hermione threw back at him. She knew it was misplaced anger, she knew it, but she couldn’t stop her defenses rising. “You’re divorced, you’ve got a nanny for the boys. You don’t know anything about what’s happening here.”

“I don’t.” Harry grabbed her hand. “Hermione, I don’t know what’s happening here, but I know it’s nothing good. He doesn’t hit you—?”

“Fuck, Harry!” Hermione raged, yanking her hand from his and turning a violent shade of red as her anger reached unprecedented levels. “Of course he doesn’t hit me! Christ, what do you think is happening here? No. You know what, just leave. Leave now.”

“Hermione.”

“Leave. Please.”

* * *

It was an interesting thing, being raised a muggle and discovering magic so young. Magic was never quite second nature to her. For instance, where a pureblood might use magic to lace up her shoes, Hermione had always found doing it ‘the muggle way’ satisfying. Even when she’d wanted to confirm her pregnancies, she chose to use the muggle method rather than potions and spells.

But, it was absolutely a shock to her when she needed to fit a massive stack of paperwork into her shoulder bag at work, only to realize that her wand was at home. Somewhere; she wasn’t even sure where she’d last laid eyes on it.

Merlin, when was the last time she’d used magic?

It used to be a steady thrum under her skin, like a current or an energy. But now? She didn’t feel anything.

She left her stack of papers on her desk and left the Ministry with tears in her eyes.

What had happened to her magic?

* * *

She apologized to Harry countless times. So many times, he’d tell her he was worried for her, and so many times she’d tell him not to worry. Ron was just Ron; he didn’t know what he was doing half the time, and she’d joke that he’d always had the emotional range of a teaspoon.

With her face in the hearth, she froze. She quickly told Harry that she had to go, reassuring him again that she was fine, but Ron was home, and she had to take care of his dinner. Harry wasn’t keen on hanging up, but Hermione turned from him anyway and found Ron standing over her.

She took a deep breath and blinked. A smile toyed at the corner of her mouth. “Hello.”

“Who’re you talking to?” Ron asked with his arms folded over his chest.

Hermione scrambled to her knees and then quickly to her feet. “Harry.”

He raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at the embers in the hearth. “Didn’t sound like Harry.”

“Well, it was.” Her tetchy tone matched his, and she backed up until her hip hit the back of the sofa.

He moved forward. He moved until he towered over her, and she swallowed around a thick lump in her throat. Her body was on fire, her fingers shaking until she balled them into fists and stuffed them into the pockets of her jumper. She lifted her chin.

“It was Harry, Ron. End of.”

“Right.” His eyes darkened, and her stomach roiled under the glare. “Dinner?”

“Heat it up in the microwave.” Hermione stepped to the side to get out of his shadow, and he followed her. Step for step. “I think I’m going to run to the shops,” she said, knowing that her voice wavered. “Do you need anything?”

“You’re not going to the shops,” Ron said, reaching out to grab her hand before she could make it to the door. “I think you’re lying to me. Who was really in the floo? Why are you leaving right now? Are you going to meet him?”

“What?” Hermione stared at him, dumbstruck; the idea was preposterous. “No! Ron, I want to get out of the house before you lose your temper and—”

“Lose my temper!” he shouted, his fingers gripping her wrist harder. “Lose my fucking temper, are you kidding me? I come home from a long day of work, I’m bloody tired, and my wife is having a quiet chat with some bloke in the floo and wants to run out of the house at gone ten! I’m not losing my fucking temper, Hermione. It’s already bloody lost!”

“Ron, you’re hurting me,” she whispered, tugging her wrist from his grasp and, when he let go as if burned, she bolted for the front door.

No shoes. No socks. A thin jumper and her jeans. Cold hit her, but she didn’t care. She stepped outside and into the night. Her feet carried her down the stairs out front of their house. 

And Ron was just behind her. He whispered her name harshly, demanded she come back to the house, but she kept moving. She didn’t know where she was going, she didn’t have her wand, and she didn’t have anyone close by that she could turn to.

But she would find a payphone. She’d beg for money. She’d get ahold of someone…

She didn’t have any phone numbers.

None of her friends had muggle phones.

Her parents weren’t…

...and her children were… 

She had nowhere to turn, nowhere to go.

And so Hermione stopped her quick movements and stood on the corner of her street in the bloody freezing cold as Ron chased after her with an angry scowl on his red face.

His voice was deadly quiet as he demanded for her to return home.

And having nowhere to go, no one to turn to, she followed him back to the flat.

She’d never been so scared in her life; and that was saying something, considering she’d been tortured at the hand of Voldemort’s right hand witch.

Hermione spent the night on her sofa, lulled to sleep by the sound of her own sobs.

__  
  


* * *

“Tea.”

He set the cup in front of her, and pulled the chair around the table so that he could sit close to her.

“You need more tea.”

Hermione sipped the tea; it was too milky, too much sugar, but she drank it anyway and let the scalding hot water soothe her throat.

“Harry—”

His hand reached out to her knee and he squeezed. “Hermione, I’m telling you it’s not alright. You can try to justify it however you want, but it’s not right.”

“It just…” she felt the tears clawing her throat as they collected at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know how it happened. Everything was good, and then… it just wasn’t, and I don’t know where it went wrong.”

Harry smoothed her hair and encouraged her to drink more tea. “But it did go wrong, love. You know that now, don’t you?”

She bit her lip hard. Tears finally spilled from her eyes. “I don’t know. I did so many things wrong, and I just don’t know how much of it was Ron and how much of it was me.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, frustration, she thought. And it made her heart stutter in her chest. This was what she’d been reduced to; triggers for noises that people made all the time sent her flying towards a panic attack.

“Do you know what would help?” His voice was soft, soothing, and his hand found her chin and forced her eyes to his. He was Harry; he was safe. She was okay, she was safe. She shook her head and sniffed back more tears. “A pensieve. Look at the past few years again, Hermione, please. This isn’t your fault.”

“How can you even get ahold of a pensieve? They’re incredibly rare.”

  
He gave her one of those Harry Potter smiles, and shrugged. “Being me has its perks.”

__  
  


* * *

__  
  


“I can’t do it anymore, Ron. I can’t.”

She sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her. It was the hardest conversation she’d ever had, and her nerves were on fire with fear, but it had to be done. There was no more denying what had transpired in their marriage for years. And she wasn’t going to allow it any longer.

“I want you to pack your things and leave,” she repeated.

He kept her awake until three o’clock in the morning before he finally packed a small bag and left for his parents’ home.

His departing words stung, but she couldn’t help but agree.

“I have no idea who you even are anymore.”

She hadn’t slept so good in years.

* * *

Fourteen thousand galleons.  
  


The number glared at her, taunted her. 

Her fingers glided over the various line items: copies, court filing, divorce proceedings. Her heart clenched and tears sprang to her eyes. However was she going to pay these fees? Her solicitor won a clean separation, no debt that her ex-husband racked up would be hers, and she won custody of her two children, but this was the price. 

A costly service for peace of mind.  
  
In the seven years since the final battle at Hogwarts, she’s been married, given birth to two children, and divorced. 

The Ministry was calling it a fallout; so many young people married and rushed into adulthood following the war, so pleased to have survived. Now, though, families are falling apart because the anxieties of post-war Britain were melting away.

Little did Hermione Granger know, however, was that her life was about to change. There was nothing that could have prepared her for the new trajectory of her life when her eyes caught sight of a little advertisement in the paper later that morning.

Malfoy heir seeking nanny.

**Author's Note:**

> A work like this is never done without a team of trusted people at your side. For me, that team was mcal, MrsRen, and Pronunciation_Hermy_One. Each of these ladies, all of whom are very important to me, provided me the most compassionate support in writing this story; a very personal, triggering, and traumatic tale. I cannot thank them enough for everything: their time, their thoughts, their friendship — love you ladies!
> 
> If you’re returning to the FTG universe: welcome back! There’s a sequel in the works with a tentative post schedule starting in April 2020. If this is your first dive into the FTG universe: welcome! 
> 
> If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I appreciate your time more than you’ll ever know. <3


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